


Not all stone is dead

by pseudosmodingium



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Bittersweet Ending, Cemetery, Dean is basically a hermit, M/M, Minor Eileen Leahy/Sam Winchester, angel!cas - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-29
Updated: 2017-12-29
Packaged: 2019-02-23 18:52:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,443
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13196394
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pseudosmodingium/pseuds/pseudosmodingium
Summary: The first big loss hit Dean when he was still a little boy. After that crucial day, there was only one way to talk to his mom again—visiting her grave at the local cemetery.Throughout the following years he has to endure the demise of more loved ones but finds, at once, his personal refuge at the graveyard where most of his family have found their final resting place.Not minding what other people might think of his eccentric behavior, he befriends the wild animals inhabiting the place and the old but beautiful stone angel that keeps watching over the dead.





	Not all stone is dead

Dean was just a kid when his mother died.

His brother was still too young to understand why mommy wasn’t ever coming home again and their father acted soon after like nothing ever happened. Dean hardly dared to bring her up around him because he wasn’t very fond of being yelled at and sent to his room for having done nothing wrong.

It was just not fair.

When Sammy got older, he’d ask about their mother from time to time—what her apple pie had tasted like, what bedtime stories she’d used to tell, what she had been like in general.

Dean was thankful for his questions. He loved talking about her but he often got into too much detail for Sam’s liking. To him, Mary Winchester was a stranger after all.

Uncle Bobby was the only one who Dean could talk to about his mom. He was also the only person in Dean’s life who was willing to take him to the cemetery. Sam always got bored real quick and Bobby had to often take them back to his truck before Dean was ready to leave. He also found the place unsettling, he said, and why would you wanna talk a stone anyway.

Dean, however, loved the peacefulness around. The dead didn’t talk, unlike the birds and the wind that, every once in a while, caressed the trees and shrubberies. He also liked to watch the squirrels scavenge for food and sometimes Uncle Bobby allowed him to bring nuts for the shy animals and even Sam appreciated watching them collect the offerings with their tiny hands.

Considering the circumstances, these trips were kind of enjoyable for Dean. The only thing he didn’t like about the cemetery was the creepy statue not far from his mother’s grave. He tended to apply a spring to his step to move on faster every time they passed the stone angel.

Dean couldn’t really describe why he didn’t like it but he always felt like the angel was watching him. His mother had used to tell him that this was exactly what they were doing, yet Dean was certain she meant they were having an eye on him from their spot on a fluffy cloud in heaven. Not like this particular one, with its dead eyes that looked like it wanted to eat him alive.

The statue was bare stone, moss covering the hem of its long gown. Maybe, one time it might have shone in bright colors. Dean could only suspect traces of paint but to be sure he’d have to stop and take a closer look at the angel and he could really do without ever knowing if he could only just get away from it as quickly as possible.

Apart from the chilling statue, though, Dean was grateful that Bobby risked a fight with his friend to give the boy some closure.

 

Sadly, not much later, John Winchester decided to move to his hometown in Kansas with his sons.

In the beginning, Bobby would still take them to their mother’s grave when they came to visit him in Sioux Falls, but, as time went by, they drove out less and less and then Bobby died, too, and Dean had almost forgotten the times he’d spent talking to his mother’s headstone and feeding squirrels.

The boy became a man, his brother as well, and their father only ever mentioned his late wife when he had drunken himself senseless again, and since Sam had long left the state to go to college and start anew, it was Dean who had to pick him up from the bar and drive him home.

He sometimes felt bad for taking advantage of his father’s condition but it felt so good to talk about his mom with someone after all these years of avoidance and repression.

John was never able to remember their conversations when he got better again. At some point, though, he stopped getting better. Dean begged his father to let him take him to a hospital or to quit drinking, at least, but the bottle was everything he had left.

Dean didn’t take it personally. He knew his father had always loved him but that man was long gone. The poison pumping through his veins was drawing on the empty shell of his body that was somehow still alive while rotting away in John Winchester’s bed.

 

Again, Dean and Sam had to bury a parent.

He was laid to rest next to his wife on the graveyard Uncle Bobby had used to take them to and Dean came to the conclusion that it was time for him to cut loose from everything that tied him to Kansas—which, honestly, wasn’t much—and return to his roots.

Whenever the weather was fine, he would go for a walk on the cemetery and pay his parents a visit and simply enjoy the tranquility of the place.

During one of his outings he noticed a weird shape, covered in ivy tendrils. He left the pathway to take a closer look and when he had moved a few leaves to the side, he recognized it as the stone angel he had always been so scared of in his childhood.

He was a grown man now. Angel statues didn’t frighten him anymore—except for the ones on _Doctor Who._ A strange sadness swept over him as he saw what had become of the surely once beautiful angel. Such a shame to neglect it like this, Dean thought.

He let go of the tendrils after a minute and continued his way back to his car.

 

The next time Dean walked by the angel, the ivy was gone. Someone must have gotten rid of it; maintenance staff perhaps. Anywho, he was glad to see the statue free of any kind of scrub.

He chose to take another close look, now that he was actually able to see something.

Moss was growing at the angel’s feet and Dean had some kind of déjà vu that was ruined by the ringing of the phone in his pocket.

It was Sam who announced that he was having great news—he was getting married! He had proposed to his girlfriend the night before and, apparently, she had said yes and now he was apologizing that he hadn’t informed Dean right away but he hadn’t wanted to call his brother so late at night, considering the time difference between them and Dean needed to remind him to breathe.

Their phone call only ended long after Dean had gotten home. He was so happy for his little brother and wished their parents and Uncle Bobby could’ve lived to see Sammy as excited as he was now in the light of his upcoming wedding.

Of course, Sam had asked Dean to be his best man and he would be the first to be informed as soon as he and Eileen had found a date so he could book a flight out to California.

Dean wasn’t sad that his younger brother had found someone before he had. He had only ever wanted the best for Sammy and Eileen was the perfect match for him, so Dean thought, and that was enough.

 

A few days later Dean went back to the cemetery to deliver the good news.

“You should have heard him,” he said, looking down at Mary and John Winchester’s headstone, “he’s over the moon. I guess he’d like to marry Eileen right away but I’m sure her relatives wouldn’t be thrilled to be left out. I’m the best man, by the way. I’m a little nervous because I have to give a speech and all that, and I also have to practice everything in sign language. I mean, I could leave it to the interpreter but I wanna do it myself.”

A single tear slid down along his cheek.

“I miss you,” he said, pressed two fingers against his lips and then onto the cold stone. “I have to go now.”

On his way back to the parking lot, he saw the angel again and remembered what he’d intended to do when Sam had called the last time he was here.

He stepped closer and viewed the statue with intent. What he’d always deemed some kind of dress as a kid was actually a toga. In combination with its neat hairstyle and watchful eyes, it could have easily been mistaken for a Roman statue, if it hadn’t been for the exuberant wings on its back. Their tips were crumbling away, assaulted by rain and ice. The white splashes of bird droppings didn’t help to preserve it either.

In the folds of the angel’s garment, Dean thought to discern faint traces of white color, though these could’ve also been caused by its prolonged exposure to the sun.

Dean’s fingers followed the fine lines that, collectively, formed the angel’s toga. The stone was cold and rough under his skin but surely, before being left unprotected from wind and weather, the material must have been quite smooth, carefully evened out by the hands of an artist.

Dean would have liked to know who the sculptor was and if they were still alive. He would try to find more of their work, find out if every piece had been made with as much skill and diligence as the angel in front of him.

He went down on one knee to push away the leaves and small branches that nature had gathered at its base. Maybe there was some kind of signature, hinting at who had created the statue.

There was, in fact, an inscription. Here and there, golden flakes of paint still stuck to the letters.  
CASTIEL  
it read.

“Castiel,” Dean said under his breath.

“I guess that’s you.” He looked the angel in the eye as he talked.

“Hi, I’m Dean,” he said. Then he chuckled.

Castiel, obviously not familiar with human conventions, said nothing.

“You really freaked me out when I was a kid. But, now that I get to know you better, you’re actually not that bad.”

The angel remained silent.

“My mom used to tell me angels were watching over me, you know. She’s right over there,” Dean said and pointed in the direction of his mother’s grave.

An elderly woman walked by, eyeing him with caution.

“Ma’am,” he said and tipped an imaginary hat.

The woman sped up her step.

“Don’t mind her,” he whispered, a mischievous smile on his face.

“I like you, no matter what other people think,” Dean said and winked.

For a split second he could have sworn to see a sparkle in the angel’s eyes until he noticed that the sun had finally come out on this cloudy day and was now illuminating the statue in an eerie way, like God was giving him a nod from above.

“This kind of lighting suits you, actually,” Dean said. “Lets you appear more…angel-y.”

He turned his back to the statue and closed his eyes. It was early April and it felt good to feel the sun’s warmth again after the latest stretch of cold and dark days.

“Shoulda brought some sunscreen, huh?” Dean murmured and huffed a small laugh.

He stood like this for some time. A light breeze rustled through the trees, birds sang and all was well until he got yanked from his reverie by people talking in the distance. The woman from before and another one who was probably the same age as her were obviously talking about him but left somewhat hurriedly when they saw that Dean had noticed them.

“Guess I’m the weirdo from the graveyard now,” he told the angel with a grin.

“Well,” he said then, “it’s been a pleasure meeting you, Castiel. See ya!”

He was still in an elated mood when he reached his car and the feeling continued throughout the rest of the day.

 

Over the course of the next weeks, Dean came to the cemetery every weekend. Once he was done giving his parents the latest update on Sam’s wedding planning, he went to pay Castiel a visit as well.

Pouring out his heart opposite inanimate objects helped, actually. He still hadn’t made many friends in Sioux Falls which was probably due to the fact that he preferred spending his time in a place dedicated to the dead to one where more of the living were to be found. But he was glad the people—(he didn’t view them as things or pretense)—he used to talk to, didn’t talk back. Where there was no response, there also was no judgement or pity. His parents didn’t judge, neither did Castiel.

When he really had longer conversations with an actual person, it was usually Sam and they mostly talked about him and Eileen and the huge undertaking of organizing a wedding.

As the weather got better and the days brighter, Dean noticed more of the paint that used to adorn his favorite angel statue. If he hadn’t known better, he’d say the small spots of color had appeared out of nowhere, but certainly he just hadn’t discovered them before as he was too astounded by the overall craftsmanship the angel was based on. Yet, he was still left to wonder what color his eyes had used to be.

“You ain’t gonna tell me, huh?” Dean said to him. “That’s a little bit unfair, don’t ya think? You know what color my eyes are. Unless you’re colorblind… My eyes are green, just fyi.”

He was silent for a minute.

“You know, Cas,” he said then, “it doesn’t always have to be me who does all the talking. You’re allowed to say a thing or two as well from time to time.”

Of course, the angel didn’t reply. He never did.

 

When Dean returned to the cemetery the next time, he wasn’t alone. Sam had flown out to South Dakota for his birthday, bringing Eileen along, too.

Unlike when Dean was on his own, no words were being spoken at their parents’ grave this time.

“Hey,” Dean said when they were leaving, basically jumping off the pathway and towards his silent friend.

“Remember this one?” he asked his brother.

“Not really,” Sam said.

“Oh, come on! I was hella scared of him when we were kids.”

“And now you’ve overcome your fear. I’m proud of you,” Sam mocked.

“He’s cool right?” Maybe he was being a little too excited.

“Yeah, it’s a nice statue,” Sam said, notably lacking Dean’s enthusiasm.

Eileen, feeling left out, patted Sam’s chest to get his attention.

“Oooh, wait, I can do something!” Dean said and waved his hands so Eileen would look at him.

He wasn’t really sure why he had practiced but learning it had been fun.

“Watch this,” he said and began to form a C with his hand.

After the A he had to think for a moment, recalling where his thumb was supposed to go now, but eventually succeeded in signing C-A-S-T-I-E-L and then he pointed at the word written underneath the angel.

Eileen gave him two thumbs up for his effort.

“Yeah, well done. Can we go now, please?” Sam said. “I don’t want to spend my whole day in a graveyard.”

 

The week after that, Dean wasn’t feeling very well and so he had to skip his trip to the cemetery and spend a few days on the couch with a bucket next to him.

When he was finally in the condition to go again, he found a patch of wild flowers blooming at Castiel’s feet.

“Wow, Cas, you’re really showing off today!” Dean said and somehow the angel appeared like he had a flush on his cheeks but this was probably just dirt or rust or lichens.

Along the pathway he found more flowers and picked the prettiest, leaving a bunch of them for his mom. The other half he crafted into a flower crown while he talked to his parents, sitting in the grass opposite their headstone. He wasn’t very skilled at making this but once he thought it would do, he wished his parents goodbye and walked until he reached Cas again.

“Here, buddy, I’ve made you something,” he said and put the crown on the angel’s head.

“Looking good, bud,” he said after he had taken a step back and admired his work.

“See you next week!”

 

Dean could barely believe his eyes when he returned. The angel’s garb shone bright with white paint, as did his wings. His head was covered in a dark, brownish tone and his skin seemed as tanned as someone’s who had just returned from a beach vacation. However, most astounding was the shade of blue that highlighted his eyes now. Someone must have been very busy making him look like this.

“You look amazing!” he told Castiel after he had moved closer.

Then he noticed something else.

 _Weird,_ he thought as he took the withered flowers from Castiel’s head.

Why would someone paint this statue and then put a crisp, brown flower crown back on it again?

Maybe they would’ve felt bad for throwing it away, he considered. Anyway, its beauty had faded, so Dean decided to get rid of it and tossed it in the high grass behind the angel.

“I’ll make you a new one some day,” he promised.

He really needed to speak to cemetery staff. The angel’s gradual restoration had made him curious. Who was behind it? Or was it just regular maintenance work? But then, why let the statue get worn down like this in the first place?

Dean had no idea how things worked around here.

 

The temperatures rose higher and higher and Dean found himself a shady place to sit when he came here now. There was an old bench a few feet behind Castiel, Angel of Thursday, as he had learned, and he liked to watch the birds splash around in a small fountain there. He had also brought watermelon, neatly diced, as squirrel treats.

“Yeah, I like these, too,” he said when the first one came to get a piece, startling the birds that had already made a run for it, and munched on a juicy bit himself.

He loved being outside when the weather was this fine. Sure, there were other parks in the city but none of those was as quiet as this one and he didn’t want all the other people around, sunbathing and playing volleyball.

“Sorry, Cas,” he said when he passed the statue on his way home.

“The squirrels and I ate all the fruit,” Dean said and showed him the empty container.

“But angels don’t eat anyway, I guess. Or, like, angel cake maybe? Whatever… Till next time!”

 

Dean met a woman. Her name was Lisa and she was pretty. They were hitting it off from the very beginning. Dean hadn’t even intended to get into a relationship but after they had run into each other for the first time at the grocery store, they started going on dates regularly and Dean thought this thing between them could actually lead somewhere.

Naturally, he neglected his weekly routine and three weeks passed before he got to go to the cemetery again. He had considered asking Lisa if she wanted to come along but came to the conclusion that it was still too early to introduce her to his dead parents.

“Heya, my old friend,” he greeted the angel. “Sorry it’s been some time but there’s this girl, you know… Hope you’re not jealous,” he chuckled.

Yep, it was probably for the best that Lisa wasn’t here to see this.

The day was a particularly hot one and Dean had forgotten to bring a water bottle with him and soon he felt a little dizzy.

“Hey, you okay?” a low, female voice asked him as he held onto Castiel’s elbow for support.

“’m fine,” he insisted, although all he could currently see was black.

The woman laid a hand on his shoulder and led him to the small gathering of trees. He could hear the fountain and the air had notably cooled.

“Thanks, I’m feeling much better,” he said and it was true.

The woman next to him was obviously trying to catch a lie in his words.

“You sure?” she asked, twizzling one of her dark locks between two fingers.

“Yes, really. Thank you for your help, uh…”

“Name’s Billie,” she said and reached out a hand.

“Dean,” he said.

A big white and silver ring sat on her finger and it felt cool against his skin when their hands touched.

“Take care, Dean,” she said as she proceeded to walk away. “Maybe I’ll see you around again.”

“Yeah,” he breathed, but Billie was already back on the pathway again.

Dean decided it was reasonable to call it a day and spend the rest of it in a place with air-conditioning.

 

Lisa never accompanied him to the cemetery but there were also lots of other reasons why their relationship didn’t last long. Mainly, because Dean was a loner and happiest when he could be on his own, doing what he wanted, when he wanted. Lisa said he was allergic to human closeness but this wasn’t entirely true. He cherished Sam and Eileen—who just happened to live a few states away and Dean felt uncomfortable thinking of ever moving to California. He just loved it here and wouldn’t trade his saunters among graves and trees and beautiful sculptures for any place in the world.

Soon it was September and Dean was to fly to California for his brother’s wedding. He had spent hours on Skype with Eileen’s sister, practicing his first man speech, and also rehearsing the signing and talking at the same time at the cemetery, Cas and some wild animals being an attentive audience. He had already gotten used to the—mostly elder—people walking by, alienated by his quirkiness, pointing fingers and possibly spreading rumors about him in hushed voices. As long as no-one escorted him off the premises and officially banned him from the graveyard, he would continue to come here as often as he liked. He didn’t disturb the peace of the dead or anything, so why would they? This was a public space and Dean paid his taxes.

The wedding was awesome and all the hard work he had put into his speech had totally been worth it. Eileen was the most beautiful bride ever and Dean might have shed a tear or two when she and Sammy had spoken their vows.

He made sure not to leave out any detail when he narrated the whole story to Cas after he had gotten back to Sioux Falls. _So?_ Other people talked to their pets or teddy bears…so what!

“I mean, honestly, there was a time where I thought I would never see you again, Cas. Two flights in four days—that’s more than a man should have to tolerate, but you know, everything for Sammy and girlfr-…his wife. She’s his wife now. I’ve been to their wedding. That’s why I had to get onto this flying death machine.”

He looked at the angel.

“But who am I telling this… You’ve got wings! You’re probably no stranger to flying. Sure, if I had control myself, this would be very different for me. But on an airplane my life is in the hands of a stranger. A qualified stranger, I hope, but I’d rather grow wings than get on such a thing ever again.”

Then Dean took a careful look around, making sure nobody else was around right now.

Arms wrapped around the statue, he said, “I missed you.”

“Before you, no-one would ever listen to me like this. You never talk back or complain… I wish you were, you know, a real boy.” The chuckle that followed sounded forced and sad.

 

Dean’s co-worker Cesar introduced him to _Día de Muertos_ which was a huge thing Mexico and also in the small Mexican community in town.

Dean liked to idea of bringing gifts for the dead and decided to do his own version of it this year. His old man would surely appreciate the whiskey and for his mother he baked apple pie, reconstructing her recipe as good as possible.

“So, I’m not sure if this is supposed to be shared, but you shouldn’t have to drink alone,” Dean told his dad.

“Cheers!” he said, poured some whiskey onto his grave and then he took a big gulp himself. The sun was already going down and it felt good how the liquid warmed him from the inside.

Dean repeated the act a couple of times and the more he drank, the hungrier he got. The apple pie was gone too soon. Still, he kept drinking with his dad ‘cause you wouldn’t wanna let such a fine whiskey go to waste.

At some point, Dean must have started to wander around and eventually his staggering feet had brought him to his _bestest and only friend in the world, Cas…Cassi…Catsti…Cassiel._

 

“Hey, wake up!”

The voice sounded far, far away and made his head pound.

Slowly, very slowly, Dean opened his eyes but was blinded by the light from above.

“Cas?” His vision was blurred but that was definitely a halo. What else could be this bright?

“Cas, you’re alive…”

“Dude, you need to leave now or I’m calling the cops.”

“Why would you do that?”

“Because you can’t get drunk in a graveyard and then sleep it off here. Your friends have already left.”

“Friends?”

“Your little Satanist cult friends. I swear, it’s always the same with you this time of year.”

Finally, Dean managed to sit up. He wanted to puke, now, but that wasn’t the appropriate thing to do, considering where he was.

“You’re not Cas,” he noticed when the guy next to him had decided to stop pointing his flashlight directly at his eyes.

“Like I said, your friends already bolted,” the watchman said. “You better leave now or in handcuffs if you’d rather spend the rest of the night in jail.”

“I’ll go,” Dean said.

Every bone in his body hurt but his head was the worst. He really shouldn’t drive now and he very soon realized that, so he parked his car at the curb and lay down in the backseat. It was freezing but he only had the clothes he wore on his body to keep him warm.

In the morning he felt worse—if that had even been possible—and had to stay in bed for the rest of the week. He should have used a few more sick days after that, yet he chose to get back to work anyway.

 

Winter had come and Dean spent less time at the cemetery than he’d liked. He still hadn’t recovered entirely from his little escapade on Halloween but was too stubborn to call in sick and see a doctor. This slight cold was going to wear off sooner or later.

It had snowed overnight and nature had gotten a sparkling white blanket. Castiel, though, was as unaffected as ever since he had been brought back to his old glory.

“I’d ask you if you’re cold but apparently, you’re not,” Dean said. “How did it not snow on you, huh?”

It was freezing outside, sure, but every minute he had to spend in his small apartment on his own was hardly bearable and so Dean kept driving to the cemetery anyway.

“If I could just stay here forever,” Dean whispered into Castiel’s ear.

When he jogged up and down the pathway a bit to get warm, he almost ran into somebody.

“Oh, that was close. I’m sorry,” he said before he realized who the person was.

“Billie?”

“Hello, Dean,” she said. It sounded like a threat, somehow.

“It’s, uh, nice seeing you again,” he said, rubbing his gloved hands together.

“It is,” she said. The timbre of her voice was warm and intimidating at the same time.

“Well, have a nice day,” he said and continued his jog.

“You too, Dean, you too,” he could hear her say from behind.

 

Dean didn’t even really feel the cold anymore.

Mostly, he hang out by Cas’s side, joking around and telling him bits from his childhood that the angel had probably heard a million times already, but he didn’t protest.

Luckily, his encounter with the security guard hadn’t had any aftermath and he never saw the guy again during the day. Even the old ladies weren’t bothered by his presence any longer and now just seemed to ignore him. He had become as much a part of this place as the headstones, the plants and animals, and Castiel.

“You know what’d be great?” Dean said, “To know what actual angel wings feel like,” he said, gentle fingers running along the stone.

 _They’re kinda warm,_ he wondered.

Castiel looked at him with kind eyes. They looked more alive than ever before but, of course, they weren’t. They couldn’t be.

He stroked the back of his hand over the angel’s cheek, holding back the kiss he’d liked to place on the dead stone. Hanging out in a graveyard was one thing, kissing statues was something else entirely.

 _(Crazy)_ The word ghosted around in his head.

“Hey,” he blurted all of a sudden. “Look who’s there!”

Not far from them were two figures getting near the Winchester’s graves.

His brother and Eileen came to a halt when they’d reached the headstone, standing there without a word, heads tilted towards the ground. Sam’s arm was slung around his wife’s waist, her head resting against him.

Dean was about to walk towards them, intending to scold Sam for not telling him they were coming to Sioux Falls, when a hand on his shoulder held him back.

“Give them time,” a deep, growly voice said.

Dean turned his head around and gasped as he realized the hand, of actual flesh and bone, was Castiel’s.

“You’re alive?” he breathed.

“To you I am, at least,” the angel said.

“But…how?”

“I had long been forgotten. No-one took notice of me. Until you came,” he said. Blue light was flickering in his eyes. _So beautiful._

“You talked to me, treated me as friend even though I was just a big, shapeless rock, and by that you gave me back my life force.”

“So… There wasn’t actually someone here, doing all these things, paint and stuff?”

“Couldn’t you already guess?”

“Well, yeah, but… I can’t believe you’re really talking to me!”

Dean’s eyes flicked to the wings on Castiel’s back. He reached out a hand but stopped before touching them. “May I?”

The angel blushed. “You may,” he said.

The feathers between his fingers were incredibly warm and soft and Cas shyly looked away while Dean stroked a careful hand over one of his wings.

“Would you mind if I…?” Castiel asked then.

“No,” Dean said abruptly and Cas fingertips touched his temple, his cheek.

Dean released a shuddering breath.

After a while of carefully exploring each other, Dean remembered where they were and that his brother and sister-in-law were right over there.

“I should,” he started and as he turned around, he saw that they were already leaving, passing by only a few feet away. Strangely, they didn’t seem to notice him, too absorbed into their own thoughts.

“Hey, Sammy!” Dean shouted but his brother didn’t even flinch.

“Sammy, over here!” Still no reaction.

“They can’t hear you,” Castiel said.

“I see that…but why?”

“Don’t you already know?” the angel said. “Deep inside, you know.”

“I don’t get it… Cas, what’s going on here?”

He felt panic stir in his stomach. Something wasn’t right. So. Not. Right.

“Cas, I’m scared,” he said.

“You don’t need to be,” the angel said and opened up his arms to him. “Come here.”

Dean accepted Castiel’s embrace. It was warm and comforting and Dean felt safe in his angel’s arms.

“Please don’t leave me,” he mumbled into the silky cloth that covered the angel’s chest.

“I will never,” he said.

“Are you taking me away from here?” Dean asked then.

“Only if you’re ready,” the angel said and dropped a kiss onto the top of Dean’s head.

“I think so,” he said, looking into Cas’s eyes. He had nothing left to lose so he pressed their lips together. Cas kissed back without hesitation and soon he felt much warmer and at peace with himself and Cas shielded them from the rest of the world by cloaking them in a cocoon of light.

So they stayed for a long time, the man and his angel.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!  
> Comments and kudos are always appreciated :)


End file.
